


Wallet Photos

by Birdbitch



Category: DCU
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:06:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3101126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdbitch/pseuds/Birdbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim keeps a picture of both of them in his wallet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wallet Photos

**Author's Note:**

> Set probably pre-DCnU.

Tim keeps a picture of him and Kon in his wallet, because there’s a pocket specifically for photos and while he’d like one of his entire family (including Bats and Titans), this is what he has, and it’s a small comfort. The picture itself was taken in San Francisco, before Kon died, and the corners have creases from being moved from wallet to wallet. He could probably get Kon to take a new one with him, but there’s something about this specific one that he can’t replace.

They took it about a week after Tim starting getting to a place where he could admit that maybe what he felt for Kon was more than friendship, but he doesn’t think that’s the reason he keeps it. It’s one of the few pictures of them in civies. They both look remarkably young.

Tam catches a glimpse of it while they’re on a plane together, heading towards Florida for a business conference, and she flashes a sly grin at him. “That’s Him, right?” she asks, not using the alias because it isn’t a private jet by any means, and the flight attendant is just leaving with his card and the order for a glass of champagne.

He doesn’t want to answer at first, instead fumbling with the arrangement of cards to make sure it seems like he’s making sure he used the right ones. “He’s my best friend,” he says, and she nods her head.

"I totally keep a picture of me and my best friend in my wallet, too."

“You do?”

She laughs. “Um, no. But I do keep a picture of me and my boyfriend.” She pulls out her wallet from her purse and opens it to show a collection of pictures: her cousins, mostly, but the only man she has a picture of is her boyfriend, arm slung around her shoulders in a photobooth. They look natural together, happy and pleasant, and when Tim thinks about the one he has of him and Kon, it isn’t too dissimilar to this one, not really. He lets his mouth clench tightly and he thinks about forcing a smile, but Tam, even showing him this picture, is teasing him. He looks away and thanks the flight attendant when she comes back with the champagne.

“It isn’t a big deal,” he says, finally, tucking his credit card back into his wallet and taking a sip from the flute.

“Maybe not.” Tam takes it from him and has her own sip. “But I think you want it to be a big deal. Or at least some kind of deal at all. We’re friends, Tim. And I’m not stupid.”

“He’s my best friend,” Tim repeats.

“And who else in the world has a best friend who would come if you just shouted his name?” Maybe Bruce if he called for Clark, Tim thinks, but that feels…different, for a lot of reasons. With Bruce and Clark, it really is just friendship—though Tim never knows if that’s the right word to describe Bruce’s relationship with anyone. Clark’s the closest to it. But if he really thinks about it, the one person for certain that could always call for Clark regardless of the situation is Lois Lane, because it’s Lois Lane and she and Clark are. Well.

If he were to call for Kon right now, there’d be a blur right next to the plane and then a wave by the window. He wouldn’t have to be in any trouble or anything—he’d just need to want to see him.

He knows that if the roles were reversed, if he were the one with superpowers, it’d be the same.

“Nobody makes that commitment to someone they don’t love in some way. Even platonically—you know? I know you don’t usually—”

“For him I do.”

“Oh, Tim.” She gives him a look, eyebrows raised and mouth turned sympathetically. Her hand comes to squeeze his forearm and it’s nice and warm. “You should tell him.”

He thinks about it before finishing his champagne.

 

—-

 

The business meeting went off as they usually did—Wayne Enterprises ended up on top of the deal, and the other company delegates were so impressed by the Drake-Fox team that they even asked the two of them out to a late lunch—their treat. It should have taken a week, and might have with other representatives, but instead they tied it up neatly within a few hours, leaving the rest of the trip for whatever enjoyment Tim and Tam wanted to partake in.

“I think I’m going to head back tomorrow,” Tim says when they reach the hotel suite.

Tam looks at him and frowns. “You don’t want to spend some beach time with me, then?”

They step in together and he shrugs, letting the door shut behind him. “You know me. I hate being away from Gotham for too long.”

“You hate being away from the suit for too long, I think. But whatever. It’s your money.” She smiles and gives him a quick peck on the cheek. “The indoor pool’s open until ten. I’m going to head down there for a while, alright? Will you be fine up here on your own?”

“I’m going to lay down for a nap.” It was seven, almost seven thirty by anyone’s accounts, so the sound of a nap might have seemed strange if it weren’t for the fact that Tim’s sleep schedule was always awful in comparison to anyone else’s. “You’re free to stay for the entire trip, if you’d like. You’ll have the suite to yourself—it’s already paid for.”

“But who will look after you?” She laughs. “I’ll think about it. Take your nap, Bat-Boy.”

“Enjoy your time swimming.” He smiles at her before ducking into his own room. He doesn’t bother with the lights, and he keeps the window shades open. Here, it isn’t like he has to worry particularly hard about assassination attempts or even getting called immediately on duty to help protect the city. This is the closest thing to a vacation he can get. Even as he drops onto the mattress, though, he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to get much sleep.

The picture in his wallet feels like it’s burning a hole through the leather and the lining of his pants pocket, so he pulls it out and looks at it, like he has done often when he’s on these business trips and needs a reminder that there’s at least someone apart from his adoptive family he cares about. Sometimes, he pretends that Kon actually is his boyfriend, but if he ever told Tam that, she’d never let him live it down. He likes the idea of dating Kon, likes the idea of having everything they have now and then some. Maybe he’s afraid to say anything because he’s afraid of things changing between them, which is…the last thing he wants. At the same time, things hadn’t changed so much when he told Kon about the cloning attempts, so what more damage could a confession be?

Maybe it didn’t even have to be a confession. Just a gradual evolution, a movie together where Bart was too busy to tag along, the usual laughing and jokes and then suddenly, staring at each other and letting it happen organically. It wouldn’t even need to be planned.

He rolls onto his side and lets the wallet lay open next to him, staring at it before shaking his head.

Maybe Tam was right and he should just tell Kon. Now was as good a time as any. Dusk had reached its arms out over the horizon, and as far as Tim knows, Metropolis and Smallville both have significantly sleepier villains than anyone active in Gotham. It wouldn’t be a bad time, either. He tucks his wallet back into his pants and rolls onto his back, folds his hands over his stomach and waits a moment to make sure he isn’t actually tired—it’s been a long day, after all, and maybe he does need the rest—but he isn’t, and he knows it.

He sits up, stands up, makes his way to the window and opens it.

“Kon!”

It feels silly, shouting for him, and when the arrival isn’t immediate, he feels even sillier. Around five minutes later, he feels awful embarrassed—maybe Kon was being hyperbolic when he said to just shout; after all, it’s not fair to expect someone to drop everything that they’re doing to just come hang out with you, especially if you’re not in any danger. He starts trying to reason to himself ways why he shouldn’t feel so bad about it, turning in towards the room again, when he hears a breeze of wind.

“Sorry I’m late.”

He turns around and Kon’s waiting outside. “Jesus,” he says.

“Let me in, yeah? Kind of rude to leave a guy waiting outside the window.”

“I don’t know if I can get the screen off,” Tim answers, feeling his cheeks turn red. He could, probably, if he really set his mind to it, but it would take more time. “Come in the normal way.”

Kon groans, but he’s gone, and in a split second, there’s a knock at the suite door. Tim runs out and opens it and Kon invites himself in. “This is a pretty nice place,” he says. “You got it to yourself?”

“Tam’s downstairs swimming,” Tim answers. “I have. I’ve got my own room.”

Kon whistles. “How long are you staying?”

“Leaving tomorrow.”

“Just like you. It’s alright. We all know you don’t know how to soak up the sun.”

“I’d burn.”

“I’d more than happily rub aloe vera all over your burns if it meant you spent some time having fun for once.” Kon smiles, though, and Tim smiles back. “What’s up? You usually don’t call. Or, you do, but it’s on the phone. Anything wrong?”

Tim fiddles with the button on his shirt immediately preceding the one tucked into his pants. “Just kind of. Missed you.”

Kon’s voice drops in volume. “Your heart rate went up. You sure you’re alright?”

He feels remarkably unguarded, in less control of himself than he has been in while. He’s not trying, for once, to be in control, either. Maybe it’s better to just let Kon see him for what he is; things always go better for them when he’s not trying to put up a mask. “Yeah. Better now that you’re here.” He’s not trying for flirting, even if that’s how it might come out. He moves towards the sofa in the suite’s living room, and Kon follows to sit near him.

“You could shout my name more often,” Kon says, his voice still soft. “I told you; unless I’m bashing a bad guy’s face in, I’ll come running. Flying. Whatever.”

“It’s so stupid,” Tim says, finally, and Kon looks like he wants to open his mouth, but he doesn’t. “I’ve got a picture of us in my wallet. From a few years ago—back before you died. Tam saw it, and you know, she kind of—she hit the nail on the head, and I’ve been thinking about it since she said something.”

“You? Thinking?” It’s light and teasing, but Kon’s leaning in a little closer. He smells nice—like the cologne Tim gave him for the holidays, faded enough that it says he’s been wearing it all day, or at least through a flight from Kansas to Florida. “I carry a picture of you, too. One Bart snapped the last time you visited with the Titans.”

“Oh.”

“You’re my best friend.”

“That’s what I told Tam.”

They’ve been getting closer and closer over the past year and a half, haven’t ever really stopped being close, if everyone’s being honest. Tim’s made more trips to Metropolis in the past two months alone if only because he knew Kon was visiting the city, too, than Bruce made in three years. Which is good, because Tim doesn’t know what he’d do if they ever drifted apart. The words he wants to say are tangled somewhere in his throat. It’s been over a week since the last time he’s seen Kon, which maybe might account for why exactly he’s feeling so riled up. Maybe it’s the heat that’s permeating even the walls of the hotel, or maybe it’s a combination of every little thing. He should have done something sooner, if he’s being honest. Kon has a hand that’s dangerously close to his own on the couch.

Maybe they’re best friends, but they’re more than that, too.

He swallows. “Kon—”

“I’ve got a confession to make,” Kon says suddenly. His cheeks—tanned from working on the farm—have a dusky pink glow to them now. “I’ve. I’ve been listening for you, you know? I. Maybe I should be listening to other people, but I—every night I keep an ear out. It’s hard, with the distance, especially when I go to California every other weekend, but Clark’s helped me out and said that hey, it’s good if you can focus on one voice.”

“You’ve been listening for me.”

“I don’t hear everything.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Is it dorky that I put on that cologne you gave me right before I showed up? I smelled like farm animals and gross sweat and. I don’t know.”

“How much have you been listening in on?”

“I’m not that good at it. My hearing’s awful in comparison to the big guy.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “There was one time, you know. And I kind of got the idea that maybe I should listen to the tone of voice in addition to my name. I don’t want to ruin any like, confession or anything you want to make, because I—I want to hear it. I want to hear what you need to say. But I didn’t. Dislike what I heard. And I came running, you know, because that’s. What I do, but I. I can get you a more recent picture. If you want, it can even be both of us. And I like. Just.” His entire face had turned red and so had Tim’s. “I’m sorry. Say what you were going to say.”

“You could have told me that you heard me jacking off,” Tim says, and he looks away, unable to face Kon. “You already know what I’m going say.”

“But you’re missing the other part, Tim. I want to hear you say it.”

“And then what?”

“Well.” Kon has a look on his face. “I’m going out on a limb and I’m going to say, hey, I feel the same.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“Would it have been more embarrassing for me to come out of the shadows and say it then, or do you prefer this?”

Tim looks down. Either way it would have been embarrassing, but if Kon had just jumped out then, he could have just gotten this all over with. “So you’ve. While thinking about me?”

“Yeah. I mean. Tim—who else?”

There are a number of people—an entire list—but Tim doesn’t answer. He gets what Kon’s trying to say. “It’s more than just a physical thing,” he says, finally, and Kon nods his head.

“I know.”

“You could have said something sooner.”

“I figured I’d wait for you. I’ve got the time.” He leans over and kisses Tim’s cheek, gentle and slow and soft. “Is this okay? I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. I’m glad you keep that picture of us in your wallet.”

Tim turns his head. “I guess so.” He lets out a soft sigh. “What do we do?”

“We don’t have to do anything different.” Kon looks at Tim’s mouth and then back up at his eyes. “But if you don’t have any complaints—”

“I don’t think I do.”

“Alright.” Kon leans in and kisses him, this time on the lips and Tim does his best to kiss back. Kon’s a good kisser and Tim is kicking himself over and over again, but he knows that Tam will be back at any moment, ready to interrupt anything that’s happening without even knowing that it’s going on in the first place. He almost doesn’t care, but he does.

“Come on,” he says. “I’ve got a tv in my room and I kind of don’t want to be interrupted.”

Kon laughs. “Alright.” They move, Kon following him back into the room where Tim flips on the lights. “And I mean it. If you want to take another picture—”

“No,” Tim says. “I think I’m going to keep this one.”


End file.
